


king and lionheart

by petrichor (thereisnoreality)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merlin (TV) Fusion, M/M, Mentions of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoreality/pseuds/petrichor
Summary: The first time Jeno kills for Jaemin it’s an accident.





	king and lionheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenuyu/gifts).



> this got me so deep in my merlin feelings you have no idea.  
> I KNOW the title is technically from the Of Monsters and Men song but really it was my otp tag for merthur on tumblr so its sentimental T_T

The first time Jeno kills for Jaemin it’s an accident.

His magic is still too untameable, too unpredictable, it has a mind of its own and Jeno fails in his endeavours to tame it.

Jaemin is unconscious, a couple meters away from Jeno and there’s a large misshapen bird with the head of a tiger snarling at his body, it’s master perched up on its back, gleeful and ready to strike.

And all Jeno can think is _Jaemin is in danger_ and his magic reacts accordingly. There’s a burst of gold and his hands light up, instantly giving away his position, behind the bushes where Jaemin has shoved him at the first sign of trouble. The monster snarls, whipping its head in his direction and Jeno-

When Jeno comes to, breathless, and hands shaking, the monster lays slain and bleeding across the forest floor and its master is headless at Jaemin’s feet. For a second, a brief, horrible second, there’s a rush of victory, of horrible triumph, staring down at the blood seeping into the mossy ground. For a terrible, gut wrenching second, Jeno is proud. Then he turns around and promptly vomits into a bush.

It was an accident. He tells Doyoung this, shaky and pale, hours later after Jaemin is safe up in his tower and the countless charms Jeno had placed on his door, strong and shimmering. It was an accident.

“It was no accident,” Doyoung refutes, gently. “You are a conduit for magic, Jeno. You are merely the vessel for what the universe requires. You _must_ learn how to control it, or you will have much more than a mere monster’s blood on your hands.”

“I killed a person,” Jeno says numbly, staring at the flickering flames. Distantly, he realises his hands are trembling, again.

“Yes.” Doyoung agrees. “And you will kill many more, if you are to remain Jaemin’s protector.”

Jeno looks away from the fire, to look at Doyoung. “I don’t _want_ to kill people,” he says in anguish. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for magic to find me.”

“But it has,” Doyoung says and his eyes are overwhelmingly kind. Kind and hard. “And now, you must decide if you will face the future that is so rightly yours, or if you will leave behind your destiny, and Jaemin.”

Jeno turns back to the flames, trying to swallow around the large block in his throat. The flames twist, flicker for a moment, before shaping into a dragon that arches its neck, bellowing flame up the chimney before turning to stare one eye at Jeno. Jeno stares at it for a second before it vanishes, the flame cutting off and plunging the room into darkness.

 

Out of all the people in the cold, dangerous turns of the castle, the only person, other than Doyoung, who knows his secret is Donghyuck, Jaemin’s half sister and closest to the King, if anyone could be considered so.

In the years that Jeno has lived in Camelot, fear and worry gripping his heart in an iron hold, aging him far faster than he would have had he lived miles away from this festering mess of a kingdom, Donghyuck is Jeno’s first confidant. Jaemin would have thrown a fit had Jeno mentioned this to him, but given that Jeno would be uttering those words from the top of a burning pyre, he’s glad for Jaemin’s ignorance.

“You don’t think he’d actually turn you in, do you?” Donghyuck asks, one day, when they are strolling past the castle grounds, around the shimmering lake that lies in the forest bordering the town. It is the height of impropriety, having the King’s ward alone with a lowly manservant, but the King and thus the court, had discovered that it was far easier to let Donghyuck do what she want than try to corral her. “Do you have such little faith in Jaemin?”

“I have plenty of faith in Jaemin,” Jeno says, eyeing a rabbit hopping past them. Sometimes he envies the freedom animals have. “I just know his faith to me is nowhere as strong as his loyalty towards his father. And I would never put him in the position where he has to choose.”

Donghyuck sighs and loops their arms together. “For someone who acts like a bumbling fool in public, you are irritatingly wise, sometimes.”

Jeno snorts, thinking of what Doyoung’s face would resemble if he ever heard that. “Thank you,” he says as they come to a stop at the edge of the lake. Donghyuck toes the water with the tip of her boot, before pulling away and propping himself up on a rock, spreading her skirts elegantly over the curved stone, careful to not let any of the fabric brush the ground.

“Well,” she waves imperiously at Jeno, the inborn sense of entitlement that comes with knowing you’re royalty, rising up in her tone. “Go on, give me a show.”

Jeno rolls his eyes and bows, albeit a little sarcastically, something he never would have been able to get away with had they been in company. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

He turns back to the water and closes his eyes, summoning the magic that is always in him, shimmering a little too close to the edge of his skin, waiting to burst out. When he opens his eyes, the water has curved up from the surface of the lake, twisting into ribbons and shapes, arching over Donghyuck’s head as she stares in wonderment.

“How could anyone think this dangerous?” Donghyuck wonders out loud, stretching her hand up to touch the water. One of the ribbons curl around her fingers, twirling into an iridescent bracelet around her wrist before leaping back into the water. Donghyuck’s smile is bright and beautiful.

Jeno thinks of the many bodies he has created in Jaemin’s name, piling up and covered in blood, painting his own hands in matching scarlet. “How indeed?” He echoes wryly.

 

Sometimes, Jeno thinks Jaemin knows.

Because for all his blustering and swagger, Jaemin is a prince, almost a king, considering his father’s waning power, and he is far more intelligent than initially meets the eye.

Jeno had been guilty of it as well. Years and years ago, when he had first stumbled onto to Camelot’s lands, foolish and so young, unaware the of the future that lay out in front of him, he had thought Jaemin another air headed member of the court, certainly very pretty but with nothing of substance in those shining eyes.

Now, Jeno knows better, of course. He has seen Jaemin take control of the kingdom when his father fell ill and then stayed ill, has seen Jaemin lead armies on the battlefield, unafraid in the face of certain danger, has seen Jaemin become a king in his own right, ten times stronger and kinder and wiser and more _tolerant_ than his father ever was.

Sometimes, Jeno thinks Jaemin knows.

There’s a way Jaemin used to look at him when he inevitably recovered from whatever ailment or injury that had put him out of commission so that Jeno could get the job done, a look that spoke multitudes. _Now_ , Jaemin watches him all the time, eyes unreadable and face completely neutral in that damnable way every member of royalty worth their salt have perfected from a young age.

Sometimes Jeno thinks Jaemin knows.

Because Jaemin protects him a lot, almost as much as Jeno does him, but in an entirely different way. Where Jeno’s defense is sneakier, and far, far more bloodier, Jaemin has the full force of his title behind him and he wields it like a lance, heavy and indissimisable. He makes loud pronouncements of Jeno’s foolishness with a charming but weary smile, waves the suspicion away with a hand bearing his father’s ring and when all prying eyes have retreated back to their gilded chambers, he turns back to Jeno and looks at him as if to say _stop being so transparent_. In that second Jeno will look back at him and consider spilling all his secrets because there is no one else in the world he would die for, no one else in the world he would _kill_ for than Jaemin, but then the moment passes and Jaemin turns away, and some small, shriveled part of Jeno’s mind, the part that has no sense of self preservation, the part that beats for Jaemin and Jaemin only, withers silently at being party to another one of his lies.

Sometimes, Jeno thinks Jaemin knows.

But while the King still draws breath, weak and shallow as it is, neither of them will utter it out loud.

 

Jaemin has no friends, not really. He is lofted high above every other being in the kingdom, and even his knights, proclaimed the closest confidants by strangers who know nothing of ruling, are not privy to his thoughts. That dubious honour fall to Jeno.

“The trials are today,” Jaemin says, fiddling with the clasp on his shirt. Jeno carefully sets down the dish containing Jaemin’s favourite honey soaked pears and moves to fasten it for him. He waits, not saying anything in response, because Jaemin rarely says things without having a reason to do so. Jaemin sighs as Jeno steps away to finish setting the table. “Minjoon is falling behind.”

Jeno looks up through his eyelashes to gauge if Jaemin is done or not. “Yes,” he allows quietly when no further pronouncement follows. “He is.”

Jaemin drags out a chair and drops into it, both elegant and not in the same movement. He tips his head sideways as he watches Jeno. The sun glimmering off his gold spun hair and Jeno meets his gaze as he sinks into the seat by Jaemin, an allowance that would not otherwise exist if Jaemin weren’t Jaemin and Jeno wasn’t Jeno. “You are quiet today.”

Jeno smiles. “I thought you liked me quiet. Do you not often wish outloud how you could fling me into the lake?”

“I have never once said so,” Jaemin says affronted but his expression lightens and he drags the pears closer to him. He considers his plate before looking up at Jeno. “What do you think I should do?”

Jeno blinks in surprise. “Sire, I do not believe you should listen to my ad-”

“Oh, please,” Jaemin waves his words away, batting them out of the air. “You volunteer your opinion daily whether or not I welcome it, why _now_ have you learnt restraint?”

Jeno rolls his eyes and reaches to sneak a piece of pear off Jaemin’s plate, snatching his hand back before Jaemin can hit him for taking his favourite treat. “I think you need to dismiss him,” he says thoughtfully, savouring the sweetness of the pear.

Jaemin nods. “I agree,” he sighs. “I allowed him the chance to catch up, but he lacks the talent. And the drive to improve.”

“But,” Jeno starts hesitantly before pursing his lips and falling silent.

Jaemin eyes him. “But what?”

Jeno shrugs. “Exercise kindness, sire. You are rather harsh when it comes to your knights.”

Jaemin sits up in his chair. “That is because they are the first defense of this kingdom,” he starts indignantly, a speech Jeno has long heard and at this point, memorised. “I did not spend years spilling my blood and tears on Camelot’s soil for her to be taken away from me at the first real threat because my knights are untrained and weak where they have no room to be.”

Jeno gazes at him. In the early morning light, the sun spilling past the windows to greet them at their table, Jaemin looks very much the king he was destined to be and Jeno knows this is why he does what he does. Why he kills in Jaemin’s name, why he protects him with his life and blood. Because Jaemin will be the best king Albion has ever seen and it is Jeno’s destiny to make sure he lives long enough to assume the throne.

“I agree,” Jeno says finally, disturbing the peace that had collected around them. “But, the kinder you are, Jaemin, the kinder they will think of you when they leave. And the more chance there is for peace.” He lets a smirk flicker across his face. “I know you are dreadfully bloodthirsty but I’m sure even you agree that war is not as fun for the rest of the kingdom.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes but a smile grows on his face. “Fine,” he sighs heavily, popping a large piece of pear into his mouth. “I’ll be _nice_.”

Jeno snorts. “That is all I ask, sire.”

 

The King passes at twilight in the sixtieth year of his life.

Jaemin stands vigil by his bedside until the very moment he last draws breath and Jeno waits outside hidden amongst the crush of people, royalty and non alike flooding the hallway, holding his heart in his throat, until Jaemin opens the door and announces, in a voice devoid of any feeling. “The King is dead.”

The funeral is horrible. Jeno held no love for the King of Camelot but even he cannot stand by stonily while Donghyuck bursts into tears, holding Jaemin’s hand tight, when they lower the King into the earth.

Jaemin does not cry once.

“Sire,” Jeno ventures once they have returned to Jaemin’s chambers, the heavy doors shutting behind him with a final thud. “Jaemin. Can I do anything?”

Jaemin looks up at him. “Go let out those poor souls in the dungeons. All the ones my father put in there under suspicion of magic.”

Jeno blinks, surprise overwhelming him. He had hoped, yes, that Jaemin would not follow his father’s most stringent rule. He did not think it would come so soon after his passing. “Yes,” he says, after a beat of silence. “Yes I can do that.”

Jaemin looks away. “There is no need for you to come back tonight. Thank you, Jeno.”

Jeno bows before he leaves. “Goodnight… Jaemin.”

 

Jaemin gets crowned King in the twenty seventh year of his life.

The day of his coronation is a bright and happy one. Hundreds stream in from faraway towns and villages to see Jaemin and people line the streets, throwing flowers in the air, hushed delight filling the air. _A new era_ they whisper, trading wide-eyed looks. _A new king. A new Camelot._

“Smile, my lord,” Jeno advises, fastening Jaemin’s cloak onto his shoulders. “It is a happy occasion.”

“It is,” Jaemin says, a sad smile on his face. “And wretched as it is, I wish my father were here to see it.”

Jeno moves around to Jaemin’s front to fiddle with his clothes, making sure they are not crumpled. “It is not a wretched thing to miss your father.”

“He was…” Jaemin sighs. “I do not think I can say in good conscience that he was a good man. He killed many, destroyed many lives, all in his ruthless pursuit of magic. But… ”

“But he was your father.” Jeno looks up to meet Jaemin’s gaze, as he smooths the cloak over Jaemin’s shoulders. “He was your father, and you’re allowed to feel sad about it.”

Jaemin swallows gazing back down at him and Jeno’s fingers twitch involuntarily where they lie on Jaemin’s arms. “Thank you, Jeno,” he says quietly. “For everything.”

Jeno smiles. “Of course, my lord.”

Jaemin becomes King at noon, with the sun pouring in from all glittering windows, and the eyes of a thousand people upon him. He is King when he rises from his knees to gaze out at his people. He is King when he walks down the steps of the main castle, into town, smiling at the rush of flowers that surround him, thrown from a hundred excited hands.

He is Camelot’s King and the frantic rush of Jeno’s heart that had longed for this moment in all those years, finally slows down, finally takes a breath, finally relaxes.

Because Jaemin is finally King.

 

It is hours and hours after the ceremonies have concluded, after the moon hangs high and full in the sky, after the wine has flowed plenty and the food has all but disappeared from the plentiful stocks of the kitchen, that Jeno is summoned to Jaemin’s chambers.

He quietly slips out of his rooms, careful not to disturb Doyoung and makes his way up the winding halls up to where he knows Jaemin is waiting.

Jaemin doesn’t look up when Jeno enters, not bothering to knock. They both have dismissed those formalities long ago.

“You called for me?” Jeno asks and Jaemin kicks out the chair by him in silent invitation, eyes still focused on twirling his knife around his fingers delicately. Jeno swallows around nothing and then moves forward, his heart hammering harder with every step he takes. He’s not afraid of Jaemin, he doesn’t think he ever could be, but he certainly is afraid of what will come out of his mouth.

When Jeno is seated, Jaemin finally looks up, placing the knife on the table. He’s in his sleep clothes, a loose tunic hanging over his frame, dipping low on his chest. Jeno forced himself to meet Jaemin’s gaze.

“How many?” Jaemin asks finally.

There is no need for elucidation. They both understand what Jaemin is asking. _How many?_ Over the nine years Jeno has spent under Jaemin’s employ, under his rule, how many men had he killed? Jeno doesn’t hesitate. “Two hundred and sixty eight.”

Jaemin’s mouth falls open, the first sign of feeling in him since the Jeno had entered. “Two hundred and sixty eight?” He demands, sitting up straight. “You killed two hundred and sixty eight men?”

“Yes.” Jeno tilts his head in confusion. “Why are you so taken aback. You knew didn’t you?”

“Of course I knew,” Jaemin snorts. “You were a fool when you first arrived, you could hardly control the gold in your eyes, let alone the whole nonsense of everything shaking when you got angry, which around me, happened a lot, mind you. I knew by the end of the first month.”

“And you never turned me in?” Jeno asks in incredulity because he has been aching to know. He knew Jaemin had known, and this was the one piece of the puzzle that has always eluded him. “Nine years, I’ve served you. Nine years, you knew. And you never told your father.”

Jaemin smiles, a little bitterly. “He always did tell me I would be a weak ruler, unable to do what’s right in the face of emotion. I suppose he was proved right, in the end.”

“Jaemin,” Jeno says, _pleads,_ in earnest. “Why did you never turn me in? So many others burned where I should have.”

Jaemin looks at him and there’s that something in his eyes again. The look that used to appear when Jeno had come close to revealing himself. The look that would bore into his mind and leave him breathless for weeks to come, until the next instance happened. “How was I to let you burn?” Jaemin asks softly. “When you killed for me?” The number rings out in between them, silent but pervasive.

“Your father did it for many years,” Jeno says, not knowing where the boldness comes from.

Jaemin laughs but there’s nothing happy about it. “And he was labeled a tyrant and a hypocrite. Two things I am not and would never like to become.” He leans forward, gaze intense as he meets Jeno’s eyes. “I will not be my father, and _you_ will no longer hide in the shadows allowing me to take credit for all your accomplishments.”

“It is hardly an accomplishment to take a life, Jaemin,” Jeno says quietly because no matter how many years have passed, how many eyes he has seen lose their light, he does not relish killing. He does it because it is his destiny. Because Jaemin is his destiny.

Jaemin sits back, looking sadder now. “I used to think you were a naive fool,” he says, voice faraway. He blinks back to Jeno as if realising something. “But you lost your innocence far before you deserved to, didn’t you? Because of me.”

Jeno shrugs. “I do not regret what I did.” If he had to, he’d do it all over again, the exact same way. Because in the end, his way had won. The loss of his innocence was a small price to pay to see Jaemin sitting on the throne.

Jaemin takes his hands and the action is shocking enough that Jeno flinches. They don’t touch. Nothing that crosses the line of servant and ruler, nothing past Jeno helping Jaemin with his clothes or his hair, nothing past Jaemin’s fingers brushing over his as he takes his sword from Jeno’s hands, nothing like this. There was no room for error, not under the hawk-like gaze of the court and Jaemin’s father. “I am beginning to understand just how much I have to thank you,” Jaemin whispers, voice so full of sincerity that Jeno can’t help but flush. “Thank you, Jeno. For staying by my side. Thank you. I owe you my life so many times over.”

“You don’t have to thank me, my lord. You owe me nothing,” Jeno reminds him. “You are my king.”

 

Weeks later, when the chatter around the coronation has faded and Jaemin is allowed to move a step outside the throne without being bombarded with congratulations, he takes Jeno, two horses and his sword and directs them away from the castle.

They ride for hours until they come to rest atop a small mountain overlooking small towns below it. Jaemin hops off his horse and Jeno follows, waiting until Jaemin turns around.

“Show me,” Jaemin asks. He doesn’t beg, doesn’t command, simply asks and Jeno follows. How can he refuse Jaemin?

He closes his eyes and lets the magic speak to him, lets it well up in him, lets it loose and wild, until the wind is whipping around them, howling and victorious. Thunder roars and lightning cracks across the sky and the wind picks up, whirling in a dizzying circle, encasing the two of them in the calm center. The heavens crack open and rain pours down on the earth, the water following the pattern of the wind, turning in ever faster circles, flooding the earth below. The center where they stand remains untouched.

When Jeno opens his eyes, he finds Jaemin staring at him, wonder in his eyes. Jeno stares back as the wind dies down. The rain slowly peters out, reducing to a drizzle before fading to nothing and the clouds above part allowing sunshine to stream down upon them, and in the distance, a rainbow, bright and bold, shines down from the heavens.

“You are…” Jaemin says breathlessly. He moves forward and cups Jeno’s cheeks in his hands. “Heavens above, you are _beautiful_.” And he kisses him.

Jeno clutches his wrists and kisses him back. He closes his eyes and lets the sensation overwhelm him. This is what was missing. From every knowing look to every faint brush of fingers. This, _Jaemin_ , was what had been missing from the small part in his heart the magic could not fill. And Jeno drinks him in greedily, deepening the kiss.

The wind picks up a little bit and when Jaemin pulls back, it’s to see all the flowers from the fields below whirling in a slow circle around them. Jaemin lets out a delighted laugh and reaches out to pluck one of them out from the air.

“You are amazing,” Jaemin whispers turning back to Jeno, his eyes alight. “Truly, Jeno.”

“Only for you, my King,” Jeno says, unable to stop the warmth and fondness welling up in his voice.

His magic swells up in him and the voice of the universe, the one that had been guiding him for all these years, the one that had lived in his head as long as Jeno had existed, lets out a content hum and washes everything around them in gold.

 _Destiny is fulfilled_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a lot happier and crackier than it ended up being, hope you liked it anyway <3
> 
>   twt  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/hyxcheis)  
> [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/hyxcheis)


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